


Unimaginable

by Cherry101



Series: Newspaper Short Stories [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cancer, Character Death, Character Study, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Sick Character, Sick Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:45:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry101/pseuds/Cherry101
Summary: ~there are moments when the words don't reach, there is suffering too powerful to name, you hold your child as tight as you can and push away the unimaginable~Viktor and Yuuri were expecting to raise a beautiful child and be beautiful parents. They weren't expecting cancer to butt its nasty head in.*based on a true story*





	Unimaginable

**Author's Note:**

> This may break hearts, and I apologize. This is based off of somebody from my church. I hope you guys enjoy anyhow. Also, I apologize for any medical inaccuracies.

What do you do when there’s no hope left? 

 

Do you keep fighting, even though you know what the outcome will be? 

 

Do you beg for another chance, praying that God will hear?

 

Or do you silently resign, tell yourself it’s useless to fight and only pain will come, so that when the end comes, it doesn’t hurt as much? 

 

Viktor wishes he could let go that easily. 

 

Having a child was supposed to be perfect. He still remembers the time spent with a surrogate mother, researching with his husband excitedly. The surrogate was blonde and Russian, with pale green eyes. She doesn’t resemble Yuuri even remotely, which is actually what he wanted. 

 

_ I want our first child to look like you,  _ Yuuri had said, whispered in the dim kitchen light when they’re hunched over a computer, researching their options. 

 

The nine months pass in a blur, and then Viktor’s singing a song from that American musical everybody loves so much. He changes some of the words, so it fits better, as he cradles his child to his arms. 

 

“Dear little Yura, what to say to you?” He tickles Yuri’s tummy, and the baby giggles with delight, “You have my eyes,” blue eyes that sparkle with joy, “you have your father’s name,” and Yuuri doesn’t mind in the slightest, he finds a plethora of nicknames for either one of them because the name Yuri was something his surrogate mother wanted, “When you came into the world, you cried, and it broke my heart.”

 

He sings the song even now, in the white white room with the blank walls, the steady sound of a monitor accompanying his voice, “I’m dedicating every day to you…” 

 

Life with a child is perfect. Yuri is perfect. Even when he fusses, when he cries and screams over simple little things, he’s perfect. He toddles around the house, finding random things to nibble on or throw against a wall.

 

Still. 

 

Life is perfect, until some being decided they had it too good. Must have decided they had it too good. 

 

It starts with chest pains. 

 

Yuri doesn’t talk much with other kids, but at home he babbles away, creating a new language out of English, Russian, and Japanese. He doesn’t smile or laugh as much as he used to, but his eyes light up when he’s excited and his hands wave around eagerly as he talks to Yuuri and Viktor about his day. 

 

He talks and talks, and then one day, while he’s talking, he just… stops. Presses a hand against his chest, and he whimpers in pain. 

 

It’s little, but he’s only four, and every time he’s sick or in pain Viktor worries. Of course he worries. He’s a new parent, he doesn’t know what’s good and what’s wrong and what’s normal. This could be normal, but he’s never heard of chest pains in developing children. 

 

So, when the pains don’t stop, when Yuri’s energy starts to sap and he becomes exhausted more easily, Viktor and Yuuri together take him to the hospital. 

 

The diagnosis shocks them. 

 

Cancer. Yuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, age four, has cancer in his chest. 

 

How can these things happen?

 

Viktor throws money at the doctors, prays for a miracle. He sits with his son after every session of chemotherapy, rubbing his little hands worriedly and begging to the gods above to save his precious Yuri, who doesn’t deserve to die. Not like this. Not before really having a chance to live. 

Yuuri spends more time on the phone, talking with doctors all over the country, with friends and family who all offer strength. When he joins Yuri and Viktor inside the bleak hospital room, it’s with a mask of faux strength on his face, with hardened eyes and an almost worry-free smile. It’s only in the presence of Viktor alone, in the little waiting room just outside the room, that he breaks down sobbing. 

 

As the months pass and the cancer slowly dies, Viktor spends more time inside the room, singing. Yuri’s more subdued - he can barely do anything, the cancer and the chemo sucked up all his energy and left him as defenseless as a newborn - but his eyes light up when Viktor sings to him, still rubbing his hands and stroking his hair. 

 

Finally, finally, on a sunny November morning, Yuri’s pronounced cancer-free. The four year old is weak, can’t speak or eat or even walk. Viktor sits with him most of the time after, because he has to stay in the hospital until he regains strength. It’s Yuuri who talks to the doctors in hushed tones. They’re in Japan, in a Japanese hospital, and although Viktor can speak the language, he isn’t very good at keeping up with rapidfire conversations, so he lets Yuuri talk. He’s perfectly fine keeping his sick son company, reading books and singing. 

 

He doesn’t understand what the doctors are saying, but Yuuri tells him later, in the dark of the room at night. Yuri’s peacefully sleeping, his chest continuously moving up and down reassuringly. 

 

He needs surgery, Yuuri explains, to make sure that he stays cancer free. However - and Yuuri steals a glance at their son, his gaze full of worry - he’s too weak now, the surgery wouldn’t do any good. They have to wait until he’s stronger. 

 

Okay, Viktor says, okay. It’s all he can think to say, really. He glances back down at little Yuri, so small against the bed. His hair has fallen out completely, and his skin is so pale, so sickly. He looks like a completely different kid, a full year younger. 

 

The doctors estimate a month, maybe two, before they’ll be able to perform the surgery. Viktor keeps his fingers crossed for the former, still spending his days in that hospital. By now, he’s sick of the blank walls, the overwhelming cleanliness of the rooms - he wants to leave, to go home, but a piece of his home is here in this hospital. 

 

Inside the vacuum of a room, time passes quickly without any indicator. Here, time is nonexistent, minutes and hours and days and weeks slip by and Viktor doesn’t keep track. He rarely sleeps, only eats if Yuuri presses a plate into his hands. A month is spent at his Yuri’s side, and… he doesn’t get better. 

 

If anything, he gets worse. 

 

It’s hard to tell, but Yuri’s strength doesn’t return. Some days, it’s a struggle for him to open his eyes and keep them open. He requires a feeding tube and an oxygen mask and life support, because the cancer took everything from him. 

 

Viktor is no doctor, but surely Yuri should’ve gotten a little better. At least a little. 

 

It’s a couple days before Christmas - Viktor learns this from Yuuri, who still keeps contact with the outside world - which means it’s also a couple days from his birthday, which he doesn’t care about it the slightest. Christmas was a holiday they picked up so they could spoil their son, and there isn’t much they can do for him now besides pay the medical bill. 

 

Eventually, the doctors came to the same realization as Viktor - that Yuri should be getting better, logically - and two days before Christmas they take Yuri in for a scan, only to be absolutely horrified. 

 

The cancer has returned. It’s returned, and it’s stronger than before, bigger. The tumor takes up so much space in Yuri’s chest, it’s no wonder why he can’t do anything for himself. 

 

They try chemo, but it doesn’t work. 

 

Viktor’s begging for a miracle. He doesn’t believe in God, not really, but he prays and prays that it isn’t Yuri’s time to leave, as he clutches Yuuri’s hand. 

 

They’re kicked out of the hospital room on Christmas. Yuuri has tears in his eyes, his hand squeezing Viktor’s tightly. He’s praying too, Viktor thinks. 

 

It doesn’t do any good though. 

 

It’s still Christmas, still Viktor’s birthday, when the head doctor comes out with a saddened expression on his face. 

 

It isn’t fair. Why them? Why Yuri? 

 

Viktor feels like he’s in a trance. He knows Yuuri is suffering too - can tell by the constant tears and phone calls with his mom - but it’s as though he’s watching his body move without him. He spends time in his bedroom - and how long has in been since he’s been home? - avoiding all other rooms. 

 

It isn’t fair. 

 

He slowly comes out of his shell. Yuuri’s been avoiding him, with heavy eyes and dark bags under his eyes and trembling hands. He feels guilty for neglecting his husband, but he doesn’t regret the time spent hiding in his grief either. 

 

Viktor apologizes to Yuuri eventually, three months later, when it’s the first of March and they’re visiting a tiny grave in the midst of so many more, larger graves. A child buried with adults. 

 

_ I’m sorry _ , he says to Yuuri.  _ I’m sorry _ , he says to Yuri.  _ I’m sorry for hiding. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for not being a better husband, a better dad. _

 

He spills his words in front of a small tombstone, and he hopes Yuri’s listening. Knowing that his parents did care. That his Papa loves him, even now, when he’s gone and they’re still here. 

 

_ I love you, Yuri.  _

 


End file.
